


Willow and aspen

by Tengwar



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-22 02:16:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17654120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tengwar/pseuds/Tengwar
Summary: Stiles is here to follow a lead on a story that has nothing to do with werewolves whatsoever. It’s about Yellowstone. That’s all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so the timeframes are all wonky and don’t reflect the times of anything thats ever happened in or out of canon. So don’t go expecting any of that business.

Stiles had liked the FBI just fine. He had tried to like it just fine. What John means to say is that he knows that Stiles had really tried with the FBI. He really had but it was no surprise to anyone and especially not his father that he struggled with authority. The Sheriff had seen that one coming a mile away but John Stilinksi had also had to try very hard, and throughout the tumult of his darling sons teenage years he found zipping his lip an holding his counsel far more conducive to pleasant father son relations than being right. John had learnt the lesson of seeing the bigger picture and keeping the relationship not the issues in mind and had a whole shelf of self-help tomes on the bookcase in his study with titles like ‘Don’t sweat the small stuff!’ and ‘Rites of passage: Fathers and sons in modern America’ that he read carefully and highlighted with an old pink marker he had taken from Stiles’ room when he was off doing god knows what and god knows where with a bunch of good goddam werewolves and the like. 

John could assure anyone who asked that none of the self-help books dealt with what to do with werewolves, nogitsunes at all. Not that anyone had ever asked. Ha! And that was exactly the way John preferred it. He had spent a lifetime shining a torch into people’s darkest hours and secret pain, motivated everyday by one single drive – to help. But when he came to thinking about Stiles and that whole werewolf hoo ha he not only turned off the torch but took out the batteries also.

 

So John was not surprised one whit when Stiles called to inform him formally that while he liked the investigative part of the Federal Bureau of Investigation neither the federal part nor the bureau part did much for him. Stiles was launching himself as an investigative journalist! His contributions to highschool newspaper and various blogs as well as his almost sorta kinda credentials as an investigator were ‘actually paying dividends, Dad.’

John could have wept into his coffee though he did not know if from relief or trepidation.

‘Just don’t get stuck hiding in some damn Ecuadorian embassy for spilling the wrong news at the wrong time.’ Was what he said when Stiles called him to tell him this exciting news.

Stiles was quiet for a few moments before he caught up.

‘I mean to be fair, I think that’s more about the sexual assault thing than the information leak thing.’

‘You get my meaning Stiles.’

‘Um.’

John huffed out a deep breath while reminding himself to validate where Stiles was coming from and stay in the moment to get back on track.

‘I mean, I don’t really see what that’s got to do with me writing investigative articles… but…so I think...’  
‘I’m saying, think Stiles. Forget the embassy thing, it’s not important right now. I’m saying… I think this must have been a very hard decision for you and it must have been tough to make the call to leave the FBI program.’ There you go. He had it now he had the thread of a really useful conversation. ‘But investigative work carries its own difficulties and always thinking things through is an important strategy. Just remember I’m always here for you. You can talk things over with me. You know that.’

He was momentarily rewarded when he heard Stiles humming with appreciation in response but when Stiles spoke again it was clear he was struggling to keep the laughter from his voice.

‘Well Dad, my next article is going to be about climate change. So I guess I’ll just have to keep my wits about me embassy-wise.’

‘Stiles.’

‘You read my last piece right?’

John had read Stiles last ‘piece’. That was part of the problem he was having. And when did a newspaper article start being called a ‘piece’? It was just about as ludicrous as trousers being called a ‘pant’. Since when did everyday dark blue pants become ‘a navy pant’. John had watched some tv and was a keen observer. This trend towards a ‘piece’ and a ‘pant’ were symptomatic of the whole damn issue which was…

‘Dad?’

‘What?’

‘Are you ok?’

‘I’m fine.’ Stiles was laughing openly now and not even bothering to try to hide it.

Anyway Stiles last ‘piece’ was exactly the problem.  
Stiles had got his fingers around a small town story on his travels, god only knew how or why but trying to understand why or how Stiles’ mind caught a hold of ideas was like trying to catch a soap bubble on a windy day. He had been able publish a piece about a woman Jenny Exeter who had been murdered by her husband and not found for many months.

Stiles had pieced together the story of her affair with a much younger man and her husband Kenneth having killed her in a fit of rage. His well to do family name and links to big pharma and Stiles’ eloquent description of the way their small town had closed ranks against police investigations to protect the wife killer from the consequences caught the national attention Stiles’ small town articles were reprinted by some of the big national papers and John Stilinksi had been proud as punch. Terrified with worry that his son always had to wade right in and make a noise, terrified that Stiles seemed to care so very little for his own safety, proud to see Stiles curiosity hadn’t been stamped down by the bureau or crushed by his teenage years. John wanted him to be happy really. Why couldn’t he just do it quietly? Landscaping looked peaceful. Hell, there were any number of professions that didn’t involve making enemies and risking things in general. It was about time Stiles gave one of them a try. Jesus.

‘Tell me about the climate change story?’ He sighed.

‘Oh it’s so cool Dad. I heard about it from this guy I met in Chicago the other week. Yellowstone, it’s like getting all healthy and no one knows why.’

‘Well.’ John said sounding pleased. That sounded almost wholesome.

‘Well.’ He said again. ‘I look forward to reading your next piece.’ And then he finished up the conversation quickly, before Stiles could say anything worrying and stressful, so John could go to bed with the comforting vision of Stiles interviewing park rangers and maybe doing some camping in the great outdoors. Maybe he might get taken up by the lifestyle of being a ranger. Now that looked pretty damn peaceful.

John placed the phone back on the charger and started readying himself for bed. He was going to hope that with time and a bit of distance Stiles could continue to live a werewolf free life. Just nice and easy. No need for drama even. Sunshine and lollipops. Green leaves on trees. What were those trees with the long trailing branches Stiles had loved to play in when he was a boy? Willows. That’s what they were, willows. Claudia and Stiles hauled out a heavy wool rug to the shade under the old willow in the yard and she and Stiles had laid out a feast of food and books on it a few times every summer for hours of doing nothing much. His heart had burst with pleasure every time he saw them out there. Stiles had loved that tree. Peaceful enough a thought to go to sleep on John said to himself as he tucked himself away for the night. That was just peaceful enough to go to sleep on.


	2. Chapter 2

Okay so when Stiles had heard that the whole Yellowstone renewal thing he also found out pretty quickly that it was probably because of the wolves. The reintroduced wolves. He had read some articles about it. It was wolves. So what? He liked wolves. It didn’t say anything about him at all that this was the kind of things that piqued his curiosity, it was just interesting to him on an intellectual level. He had always been interested in the environment. So? He had an affinity for wolves, okay? Wolves were his tribe. So to speak. I mean other than Scotty there was no wolfy tribe. Just you know. Memories. Most of them bad. Even the ones with Scott in them. Especially those some days. Staying friends with Scott had required him to examine what forgiveness really meant and whether Stiles was even constitutionally capable of it. Some nights he still woke up from nightmares furiously angry and frightened with the world, pissed off at Scott and stuck to his sheets in cold sweat. No one was wasn’t saying he was not a work in progress.

 

In the meantime busy was good, and so was keeping on moving and so he had stumbled across writing as his unlikely way of doing both. Stiles told himself that Yellowstone and the wolves thing was just a story. He had been moving around, relishing his anonymity and freedom but this was a story that kept on pulling at him. The published facts were known pretty well already but to Stiles something about it seemed to be missing. Wolves had been reintroduced in three waves and managed by a team of rangers, ecologists and park volunteers. The effect on the well-being of the park had been miraculous; more so than anyone could have imagined. The wolves had begun to breed and form into separate packs, they prayed on the large hooved animals thinning their numbers and helping the elk and moose populations become their healthiest. The forests and grasslands started to regrow when the smaller numbers of hooved animals used them. This heralded the return of healthy ecosystem and improved waterways. It all seemed so implausibly good and well planned and managed. There must be more to the story – or even just more about the story that was interesting other than the wolves came back and then the land got healthy. That was barely anything.

 

So Stiles reverted to his truest type and went on google research jag . It only took him twenty minutes to find out that the largest pack of wolves that was translocated to Yellowstone had settled in an area in the north known as the Druid Peak pack he felt that tingle he always felt when there was a lead worth following. Even just a few more desultory minutes of googling as he lay diagonally across the small double bed in the apartment he was renting by the month turned up a 1999 report outlining the environmental impact statements of the program, the park management approach, the list of donors and groups consulted. Running his eyes down the list of volunteers he found the one last piece of information he needed to really seal the deal for him. Listed in a long row of volunteers was Mrs. Talia Hale 860 hours 1996 – 1997. This little report was all he need to pack his bag into the back of the jeep, text the guy he had been hooking up with an apology for leaving town, stopped briefly to call his dad and enjoy one of his dads more unhinged conversations before heading north west and making his way to Yellowstone.

 

***

 

Stiles booked himself into a camp site and signed up to do a couple of guided walks with the rangers when he arrived. His tent still smelled of smoke from his last time camping and unhappily, also of sardines, the smell always eye wateringly strong when he first pitched it. It was a small dome tent bought from a backpacking Italian he had met and traveled with for a few weeks in Mexico. Gio had thoughtfully included a large bundle of incense in the sale which indicated to Stiles that the sardine problem was long-standing, and the tent was probably not quite the bargain he first thought it to be. The unpleasantness of the first few nights in the tent was always a bit of a downer, but the guided walks he booked into were much better. He made a few friends around the campsites, admired some vans and felt at ease. In fact he was hiking today with two families who were camping for a week and hoped to see some wildlife that he had gotten to know. Jenny and Leonard Chang were avid amateur wildlife photographer and their oldest friends in the world the Robertsons loved to camp and it was just so good for the kids to spend some time outside of the city. Stiles had done a couple of the walks with them already and was happy to be invited to their campsites most nights to eat as he himself had no food and very little equipment. Maybe his dad was onto something with choosing a peaceful life. Stiles could actually be ready for that. Hiking seemed to help him clear his mind.

 

In fact he was enjoying himself so much that he had almost disregarded the wolf story when Stacy the ranger, guiding his Saturday afternoon walk around the base of small range of hills, stopped suddenly in front of him on the trail. Every guide he had met so far emphasized the unlikelihood of seeing wolves out in the parts of the park visited by humans even if they were around. The guides described to wolves as being far ranging wild hunters, adept at hiding from human eyes. Stiles had rolled his eyes very far back in his head and often snorted out loud at this, having to poker face his way back to unobtrusive, disinterested listening like your average tourist, wary calling too much attention to himself. In all the days he spent with these rangers now he had seen nothing of any kind of wolf and he did not really expect that to change. And it was ok. Nothing to see here. He could move on at any time. Let the winds take him wherever they wanted him to go.

 

The group he was hiking with had come to a complete halt on the trail now and Stiles looked around him wondering what ranger Stacy was about to point out. Nothing he could see but up in front Stacy was talking quietly and urgently into the receiver of her radio. None of the other guides on any of the other hikes had ever used theirs so Stiles stepped a bit closer to her back to see if he could see what had her so excited. Stiles bent closer to try to hear what Stacy was whispering. She was worried about something ahead on the trail and unsure of what to do. Stiles craned his neck to see past her around the corner and his mouth dropped open in surprise.

 

In the middle of the path stood a fully-grown wolf, black fur shining in the late sun with a slight hint of gray around the muzzle. The wolf was looking at Stacy and Stiles as they stood on the small dusty path and then beyond them to the Robertsons and Changs. Jenny fumbled out her sleek, expensive digital SLR camera, trying desperately to turn it on with shaking fingers, cursing when she couldn’t start it up all the while shuffling backwards. Just behind her husband Leonard was rapturously snapping photos on his phone while Stacy urged them to walk slowly backwards down the path they had just walked up.

 

The wolf growled at Stiles who seemed frozen in place, resisting as Stacy tried to soothe him back down the path, mistaking his inability to move for fear. He shook her off and ignoring her murmured pleas to ‘please just walk back down the path Stiles’ and stood staring at the wolf in pure, shaking disbelief. The wolf did not move or acknowledge him in any way, but Stiles knew exactly who it was. There was only one kind of brazen that went by that name.

 

‘Peter.’

 

Stacy's eyes bulged and she pulled on his arms now and Stiles stumbled a little a few steps to the side. Later he would lie in his tent and imagine Stacy debriefing with the rest of the rangers that evening, relating how Stiles _’yes you know the guy camping alone over at Crystal’ ‘yeah I know Stiles, he did my walk yesterday up the side of Peachett.’ ‘Yes that guy had had a funny turn or even maybe a small psychotic break and started calling Alpha#52 of Druid Peak pack Peter!’_ And then Stacy could not talk Stiles into backing off and walking away for love nor money.

 

‘Peter?’ Stiles said again. ‘Motherfucker. What the fuck are you actually doing here?’ Stiles demanded. ‘What the fuck are you doing here? You asshole!’

 

Stiles could hear Stacy begging him to leave in a low voice and Leonard was whispering loudly to Denise Robertson that he thought maybe Stiles was tripping out as he reached past her on the path and tried to pull Stiles back towards the group now moving further down the path.

 

‘You are a bad penny, Peter.’ Stiles shouted backwards over his shoulders, twisting to try to maintain eye contact with the wolf that stood impassively watching him go. ‘A bad penny.’ Stiles shouted again when the wolf suddenly sat back on his haunches and smiled, tongue lolling out to the side as if he was really enjoying the spectacle of Stiles being man handled down a trail by a concerned orthodontist from San Diego.

 

‘You better come find me later Peter.’ Stiles shouted as Russ Robertson took one side and Leonard the other and marched him down the hill a few more yards. ‘You come and find later on tonight or so help me...’ but when Stiles shook Russ and Leonard off and looked back, the path was empty once again. He shook his head as if to clear it and buried his face in hands suddenly feeling furious, with himself, with Peter, with the whole damn thing. When he forced himself to look up his previously too friendly crowd of fellow campers and hikers was looking at him warily and with suspicion. He sighed loudly and looked again for Peter up the path. There was no sign of him but Stiles was as sure as he could be that Peter was here, that he had seen him and that this whole business of Yellowstone was tied up with the Hales in one way or another, inexorably tied up with Talia and Peter and probably Derek, tied up with them all just like he himself was and had always been no matter how much he tried to change his life.

 

He looked at Stacy who was muttering into her radio obviously very concerned.

 

‘Stacy? I think I got too much sun.’ He lied before pretending to wobble down to a crouching position and accepting a bottle of water. The relief from the group around him was palpable and they rushed forward to fan him with their visors and offer up their flasks but in his own chest an old anxiety flared to life.

 

Here he was with the wolves again.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles lay in his tent later that night waiting. He told himself that Peter would come, that Peter would heed his warning. There was no doubt in his mind.

 

That didn’t last long though. As the night crept on his confidence ebbed away and he jumped at every noise, the sound of someone arriving late and setting up a tent in the darkness, the late night rustle of zips and sleeping bags, torches arcing through the night and people calling to each other softly on the way to the bathrooms. None of these sounds he heard so loudly in the night brought Peter to his tent. Not one of those sounds brought Stiles any closer. He tossed and turned in his tangled sleeping bag all night, willing himself to forget, to move on to get his shit together. None of it worked. Wide awake through midnight, gritty eyed and unhappy, the night lasted forever.

By early morning, before light was in the sky Stiles woke from a very restless doze and was confronted with the knowledge of something he could not escape. He untangled himself from his sleeping bag and the blanket folded underneath him and pushed his head out of the tent. The campsite was finally quiet and still, and two things because very clear to Stiles.

Peter wasn’t coming.  
And Stiles didn’t know what to do anymore. 

He could no longer remember or think clearly about why he had come here so filled with the certainty that his path, his next story lay this way. That story had dissolved right in front of his eyes when he saw Peter on the trail. All through the night he wondered if he had imagined Peter. If seeing a wolf and thinking it was Peter was just a vision created by his need. Perhaps he really had just been that crazy guy shouting at a random wolf. He remembered the tenderness the others on the walk and treated with him after his outburst; a cool bandanna soaked with water pressed to the back of his neck, a hand to his elbow to lead him to shade. It felt good to be cared about and fussed over. He wanted that so much.

Why had he come here? He berated himself crouching down to sit on a log. Wolves and Yellowstone, what had he thought the story was going to be about? What? Magical supernatural ecowarriors of wolfkind? Werefuckingwolves? What had he been thinking? 

He hadn’t come here to write a story about environmental renewal. He had come here because he was lonely. Because he missed them. Not the death and loss and grief and stress of it all, but he missed the connection. Because the loneliness he was usually able to ruthlessly supress had overwhelmed him. He had grown aimless with it. He had been unsettled.

He missed who he was, what his life had been when he was with them.

He had been fooling himself for a while.

It was easy as the morning light crept into the sky to make a decision. To turn back to his tent and kick out the pegs and ropes. He pulled out his overnight bag and clothes and stuffed them all together inot the bck of his jeep. His sleeping bag was quickly rolled and stuffed into its pouch and slung into the back of the jeep. The sleeves of crackers and stash of candy in the tent pocket was shoved to the back seat of the jeep. 

He changed his clothes then, his shorts exchanged for jeans by the side of his car between two open doors, checking first to see that no one from the tents around him was awake yet. No heads were poking out of tents. He pulled off his shirt too and slipped into a plain white t-shirt, slightly cleaner and which smelled much better than the rest of his things. A light sheen of water was shimmering across the fly and he knew packing the tent before it dried off would make mold grow in each crevice compounding the smell of sardines and sadness. Instead he kicked at the pegs again and pulled the poles out before bundling the whole tent up and walking it to the dry waste area by the toilet blocks. He got into the car and opened the drivers door. He looked around the campsite one last time, wondered who from the next days groups of campers would grab his spot after he cleared out and put the key in the ignition and drove away.

Over an hour later Stiles pulled into a small town north east of the edge of the park. Traffic had been quiet leaving the park though now he drove by a steady stream of new campers and guests starting to trickle in from the north. He was yawning and hungry and desperately in need of coffee so he pulled up in front of a small restaurant with the name ‘Lucky’s Diner’ lettered across the plate glass window at the front.

There was no one visible behind the counter from the street, but he could see a few people sitting at small tables, scattered across the front of the room. The few early morning customers looked up at him with little interest. He could smell the strong scent of coffee and of toast and bacon. His stomach rumbled loudly and he moved to the counter eagerly to order some food.

A older tallish redheaded woman at counter turned and said ‘He’s just gone out back for some more juice. He’ll be right back’ to Stiles before she turned back to her plate of eggs. Stiles murmured his thanks to her and settled onto a stool at the far end of the counter. He heard a loud clang, like something being metallic being dropped on to tile and indistinctly from behind the door to the back room he could barely make out someone swearing. The door pushed open with a bang and Stiles looked up. 

‘Derek!’ Derek was standing in a black t-shirt with the word Lucky printed across his chest and blue jeans around his middle was a rusty red apron folded over and tied tightly around his waist. He was holding large silver metal mixing bowl in his hands.

‘Stiles. I thought I heard you…’ He trailed off and looked down the counter at the redheaded woman who was still reading her paper. He put the bowl down. ‘Sorry. You just surprised me. What are you doing here? Are you ok?’ He ran his eyes over Stiles lingering at the dark circles under Stiles eyes.

‘Are you serious? That’s what you ask me? What am I doing here? What are you doing here? What is this?’

‘What is what? What do you mean?’

‘First Peter, now you? Here in the middle of nowhere?’

Derek shifted his weight between his feet and took a cup from the shelf below the counter pouring some coffee out for Stiles. Stiles boggled at this and looked around at the other customers none of whom seemed to think it outrageous that Derek had a small apron tied round his waist or that he was topping up the redheads coffee at the other end of the counter. She simply nodded her thanks and went back to her newspaper. Stiles was speechless.

Derek pushed a menu towards him.

‘Oh you saw Peter already?’  
‘Yesterday. In the park.’

‘Oh yeah. He’s there a lot. Was he you know…’ Derek gestured with his fingers, once with two fingers walking upright across the space in front of him and one that seemed to be suggesting a more wolf like four legged walk across the space. Or Stiles assumed that’s what it meant.

‘He was...you know…’ Stiles tried to mimic the wolf gesture back to Derek.

‘Oh. Right.’

‘Oh my god. Really? That’s all?’

‘Well what do you want Stiles? I’m here. Peter is also here.’ 

Stiles mouthed wordlessly at Derek.

‘But what are you doing here?’

‘Working. I own this diner now.’

‘You own a diner? You own a diner called Lucky?’

‘Um. Yes. I thought it might be good to you know, set a positive intention.’

‘Oh my god. What did you just say to me? Set a positive intention. I am not sure which freaky ass universe I slipped into today, yesterday.’ And he thumped his head down on the counter. Derek pushed his coffee closer to him.

‘Drink Stiles. I’ll get you some eggs. Jesus you look awful. When was the last time you slept?’

Stiles looked up and squinted at Derek. Derek’s gaze was warm and direct. He was biting at his bottom lip and watching Stiles carefully. For a strange moment Stiles felt cared about, and cared for. He remembered briefly his overnight confrontation with loneliness and how much he yearned deeply for someone to put their arm around him and say come with me.

The door behind Stiles opened and Derek nodded to whoever it was who walked in before turning back to the kitchen and calling through for scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, to a woman glimpsed briefly through the swing doors standing at grill.

‘Well look what the cat dragged in! Stilinksi.’

That voice. Oh god he knew that voice. Stiles mouth dropped open and he turned around to face the front door.

‘Jackson.’ Stiles gaped at Jackson.

Jackson simply nodded at Stiles. He nodded over at Derek too, smiling briefly. Stiles tried to think of something to say but nothing came to mind. Jackson slid onto the stool next to him and accepted the coffee that Derek poured for him.

Stiles dropped his head to the counter again. He only sat up when Derek placed a plate full of hot food next to him and tapped him lightly on the back of the head. 

‘Stiles eat.’

Stiles stomach rumbled loudly again and he really couldn’t ignore it any longer.

‘So Stilinksi. How are you?’ Jackson asked him. 

Stiles swallowed around large mouthful of bacon and started to answer.

‘Wait.’ Jackson interrupted. ‘Why do you smell so strongly of fish? You stink Stilinksi.’


End file.
